


Coping

by i_gaze_at_scully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Early MSR, Emily Arc, Implied Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_gaze_at_scully/pseuds/i_gaze_at_scully





	Coping

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.

She giggles at the old saying.  _Old saying_ , more like drunken mantra. College looms heavy in her memory and she could lament her past or laugh about it, and she chooses the latter.

But she’s laughing alone, she realizes vaguely, and promptly attempts to be more serious, clamp it down. But for God’s sake, how can she with the look on Mulder’s face? He’s just…. Oh Lord he’s so  _cute_  and so  _morose_ , just  _relax_ , Mulder….

“I am relaxed,” he insists, and not for the first time that night she flushes red. She has a habit of thinking aloud when she’s drunk. She wonders just how many of thoughts slipped through. He looks furtively around the bar, and she’s suddenly struck by the idea that he may be embarrassed by her.

“You’re right,” she says quickly, straightening up. She slouches when she’s drunk. It’s not becoming. _I’m not drunk!_  She insists, this time certainly in her mind. “I’m sorry.”

His face melts a little, and his hand reaches over to rest on her knee. “You don’t need to apologize,” he croons, tracing circles up her thigh that make her breath halt in her throat. “Why don’t we just go back to the motel?”

He’s embarrassed. He is, he’s ashamed to be seen with her, she’s drunk and he’s mortified. She’s  _not_  drunk, she’s  _tipsy_. But he’s embarrassed nonetheless and she turns a shade of red that put roses to shame.

“Mulder, I–” His eyes are so… pretty. He’s so pretty. He regards her with the utmost attention, the hand on her thigh nearing her hip and his lip sucked between his teeth and her stomach lurches. She forgets for a second that she had started a sentence. “I like your new suit.”

How did she get here? How was she drunk? _Not drunk!!_  How was she tipsy in this bar in this God forsaken town with Mulder, in his new suit, a suit he got specifically for… Oh. Oh yeah. The funeral.

“Scully, let’s just go back to the motel, okay?” His lovely eyes are imploring, the hand on her hip met firm and steadying. Meant to be, anyway.

“I’m fine,” she asserts. She gathers her drink in her hand, raises the glass to her lips. It’s his fault, really, that he reaches out to take it from her, because who can blame a girl for startling? She’s a federal agent after all, drunk –  _tipsy_  – or not. Her tequila goes flying, catapulting down her lap and his, somehow, his new suit soaked and stained, his hand recoiling from her leg.

“ _Jesus_ , Scully!” He yells, catching himself on the last syllable. She realizes as heat rises in her that she’d throw her drink in his face if she hadn’t just spilled it all over him.

“Go.” It is not a request, it is not a negotiable. “ _Go_.”

He won’t. He dabs his trousers with a paper thin napkin and grinds his teeth to a pulp, but he won’t leave.

“ _Go!_ ” She shouts, ignoring the stares of patrons and bartenders alike. He nearly trips her, dragging her by the hand to the door and pushing her out into the oppressive California heat. It’s midnight and still too hot to fathom, and she hates it, she hates everything about it. How she ever lived here in this place where her daughter died is… it’s…

“Scully,” she registers him saying. “Scully,” again, softer. He’s holding her hand, and his other hand is on her cheek. Her cheek is wet. She’s crying. Fuck, she’s crying.

“I want to go home.” Her voice is smaller than it’s ever been, her gaze fixed on the wet stain on Mulder’s thigh. “Take me home.”

He wraps her up in his arms and for a moment, he’s done as she’s asked. For a moment, she is home. 


End file.
